


Touch

by sickly _sweet (sketchy_and_unformed)



Category: CKY (Band)
Genre: Casual Sex, First Time, M/M, One-Sided Attraction (implied), almost angst, or at least that's the intention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-02
Updated: 2005-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchy_and_unformed/pseuds/sickly%20_sweet
Summary: I’m willing to go a lot further with this. It’s not a threat to me, just something I want to do right now. It’s not about Deron. It could have been anyone.Livejournal repost
Relationships: Deron Miller/Jess Margera
Collections: Livejournal reposts: CKY/HIM





	Touch

I’m not used to going a day without having someone to touch. I miss the warmth of a slept-in bed; crawling between the sheets into a sleepy, comfortable embrace. I miss casual kisses and the kind of touches that only lovers share. We’ve only been on the road for a month but I miss Kelly like hell already.  
  
Deron catches one of my many withdrawn sighs and rolls his eyes.  
  
“God damn it, Jess…”  
  
I smile and shake my head.  
  
“Sorry. Just…you know.”  
  
His eyes are distant but that’s nothing new. “Yeah. I know.”  
  
I’ve been looking at the world through different eyes. Every person is reduced to a warm body that I need to hold and love. Every accidental touch is electric. But this touch doesn’t seem so accidental. The air in the bus as it crawls along dusty Arizona roads is already stifling; the sunlight filters through the windows and bleaches the colour out of us. My eyes were focused on the television screen although I couldn’t make out the picture past the glare, but now they flicker to my thigh and the long fingers tracing circles over the fabric of my jeans. I frown at Deron but he’s staring straight ahead.  
  
“Dude, what are you doing?”  
  
His voice sounds detached, almost sing-song like.  
  
“You’re lonely, I get that. No one has to find out.”  
  
“But…” I start to protest but for some reason the words die in my throat. The next words aren’t supposed to be spoken aloud, but they come out anyway in a low voice filled with anticipation and fear.  
  
“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it.”  
  
Deron turns to face me now, a question in his eyes that are pale grey in the streaming sunlight. I tilt my head fractionally, he takes that as slightly more than it was intended to be and leans forward. I think he’s going to kiss me but he stops just short, inches away from me with his breath hitting my skin.  
  
“We don’t have to.”  
  
“I don’t see why not,” I reply because really I’m craving something, anything, close to what’s waiting for me back home. Deron’s eyes are piercing but I don’t back down, and then his lips are against mine and once the shock factor wears off my arms slide around him and I kiss him back. It’s like an instant lessening of tension just from this one movement and I sigh deeply, leaning back on the couch and pulling Deron with me. He crawls into my lap, fingers twisting through my hair, and it’s all nicely familiar for now.  
  
I probably should feel guilty for using Deron as a stop-gap like this, but I don’t because it’s Deron. He knows me almost inside out, has done for years. His kisses are a little sloppy but I mould them into something more like what I’m used to, more like Kelly’s, and he follows my lead. Maybe it’s because my sexuality is so concrete to me that I don’t have a problem with doing this. After it’s done I’ll still be into girls, so what does it matter?  
  
There’s a slight scrape of stubble against my lips from time to time; Deron tastes like coffee and cigarettes and I’m not used to that. For minutes, maybe even hours, it’s just this slow slide of tongues and the shifting, tensing muscles beneath my hands. I’m dimly aware that I’m making out with Deron but mostly I’m not aware of much apart from the warmth I’ve been longing for and the stirring in my pants.  
  
He finally pulls away, lips shining and eyes slightly unfocused, glazed like he’s looking through me, not at me. I want to ask what’s running through his mind right now but I feel like it would break some sort of unspoken rule. Instead I curl an arm around him again and pull him back. I’m willing to go a lot further with this. It’s not a threat to me, just something I want to do right now. It’s not about Deron. It could have been anyone.  
  
I try to move into more of a lying down position; in the end Deron gets off of me while I do, and the physical loss is tangible. Immediately I miss his weight and heat, and I sigh again with relief when he’s settled back on top of me with his mouth on mine again. His body pushes down into mine and it’s different but I like it. He hasn’t been eating much lately and as a result he’s angular and light. I’m used to, almost expecting to find, feminine curves and swells of breasts and buttocks, the rustle of skirts, the nylon scratch of pantyhose and smooth, tanned thighs. Deron has none of these things and yet my hands don’t stop running over his sharp ribs, lightly curling chest hair, soft stomach that twitches at the contact.  
  
But his eyes are dark-lidded, heavy with lust; his breaths become short and broken by gasps depending on what I’m doing, and these things are familiar to me. His kisses become deeper when I pull his hips hard against mine; he grinds down and groans softly and I recognise these movements. I manage to pull his shirt away from his body and place my lips against his neck just to make him groan again, and his scent fills my lungs.  
  
I’ve forgotten why I’m here as I unzip and unbutton his pants, watch him bite his lip as I reach inside his underwear. My other arm is wrapped around his slight frame, locking him into another slow, sloppy kiss as the weight of his cock rests against my hand and he trembles. Somewhere along the line I stopped forcing the way that he’s kissing me, stopped searching for all of those female traits that he had never possessed. I stroke and pull at him and he moans and rocks his hips, fingers digging into my shoulders. We roll over until we’re on our sides facing one another; God knows how we find room to do that on the tiny couch. Deron’s eyelids flutter but stay closed and I wonder again what he’s thinking about, or who. I also wonder the same about myself.  
  
Two minutes later he gasps and comes in my hand, on his jeans, on my shirt. I kiss him again and taste the sweat on his lips that’s new to me, but I don’t really care about that anymore. His fingers slip inside my pants, he moves away from me and almost before I know it his hair is tickling my thighs and I whimper as I hit the back of his throat. My chest starts to burn and I come far too quickly with his hands running over my skin.  
  
This was never about sexual frustration, so it doesn’t surprise me to find his lips against mine again soon afterwards feeding me slow, bitter tasting kisses as the tingles through my body lessen and my muscles relax. This is about closeness. I’m sure it was about Kelly at some point but she got lost somewhere along the way. That thought troubles me slightly and I pull away with a frown. Deron catches my eye just briefly and his expression is still almost vacant; he’s withdrawn into his own mind again. He slides off of me and re-fastens his jeans, using his discarded shirt to wipe at his stomach. I lift my hips and pull my pants back up, focusing everything on this movement, this action.  
  
I suppose we were lucky that Chad didn’t catch us, we weren’t exactly stealthy or rushed, but then I’ve heard things after dark and I don’t think this is the first time that Deron’s sucked dick on the tour bus. But that isn’t jealousy.  
  
It takes me a moment to realise that I’m sweating like crazy in the balmy heat, and another to notice that it’s finally sunset. The golden light catches Deron’s face as he stands, seemingly staring at nothing, and casts him as troubled, distant, remorseful and melancholy all in one instant. I watch, and think, and watch some more.  
  
“This stays between us.”  
  
He doesn’t move save for a sharp jerk of the head in the affirmative and a slight tightening of the jaw. I feel guilt now that had been absent before. Part of me feels that this is something we’ve been prolonging for the last ten years, but it won’t do to start thinking like that. I need to see my daughter, my fiancée, need to reaffirm something, why I have done the things that I have just done and why I have enjoyed them.  
  
I go back to sitting and staring at the TV, only now I can see the picture just fine, and darkness is beginning to creep in from outside.


End file.
